


Lavender Roses

by felinedetached



Series: Rose Week 2017 [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hanahaki Disease, Body Horror, F/F, Kinda, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 05:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11479860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felinedetached/pseuds/felinedetached
Summary: For Day Four of@roseweek- AU RoseA lavender rose sits innocently in the palm of your hand. The image you pose could easily be taken as beautiful, a photo of a girl holding a purple rose. It could be moving, perhaps.It would definitely be moving in context, but maybe not in the way people would think.The image you pose is more tragic than beautiful - that of a girl faced with unrequited love.





	Lavender Roses

It’s a Monday the first day you cough up a petal. Ironically, it’s the same colour as your text. You would have thought it would be the colour of _her_ text. Research tells you the petal is of a rose.

 

A Lavender Rose.

 

You share a name with the thing that will kill you.

 

* * *

 

It is months later that you turn back the the Grimoire. You haven’t opened that book for years - not since you were a child. You open it now, as you cough up purple petals, choking on each breath.

 

Its yellowing pages are thin, easily breakable, but as you turn them they seem as hard as stone. The Grimoire doesn’t care for physics, or what humans think can happen. The Grimoire is of a different origin to that. Its pages contain cures and poisons, invocations and curses.

 

It could cure this for you. _They_ could cure this for you.

 

You need to summon Them first.

 

And so you do. Candles laid out in the perfect arrangement, chalk lines tangled like a child’s scribble. Like _Their_ tentacles.

 

Flame leaps from the match, and you carefully guide it to the first candle.

 

“Ya uln jalu, tangler't,” you say, the words falling easily from your tongue. They aid your breathing, aid your words, for they want to come though. They have possessed you once before, when you were young, impressionable, and guided by a being who only meant you harm.

 

“May jalu s’kd ma fu yj pgliht,” you continue, all of the candles now lit. Your tongue feels heavy, and whispers are beginning to fill the room. Pausing, you hack up another petal. It’s a helpful focus point, and you lay it in the centre of the candles. Hopefully, it will tell them what you’re dealing with.

 

“May jalu aid ma l’oa yj tloeburs,” the words fall out of your mouth now. You can feel yourself losing control of the summoning, and you dig your nails into your hand. The pain is sharp, not enough to distract you from the casting but enough to pull you out of the rut. If you’d stayed in there any longer, you would have drained yourself of energy completely. They would have taken that chance and possessed the world with Their immense (albeit deranged) power. That isn’t something you’d like to perpetuate.

 

“May ya  'ai jalu tis fib’th shugg!” The incantation finished, you place your hands on the edge of the chalk circle. Past you, under the direction of a cue ball, had walked straight in. This time, you refrain -possession is not a fun experience, and you don’t want to repeat it.

 

_E̷d͠s̛a̢̕m̧ ̛ą͟h̸̨ ̨̨j̶̢a͠l̵u ̡͠g̕̕͡or͢th̸͜y̶̛t͜͠͠c͘͡h̵̛,̢͠ ̢͟R̵͞͞o̵s͠e̵̷ ̸L҉̵al̸o̷n͘͜͝de͡?̸_

 

Their words are grating, but you are well used to it. Even years of release from the power of Their voices, and it still feels like normal. Almost, you could say, like coming home.

 

You hate your home.

 

“I have Hanahaki Disease,” you rasp in reply, throat raw from both the power in the chant and the flowers building up in your lungs, the vines curled around your lungs, the thorns digging into your flesh. A violent cough rips through your body as if to prove your statement, and another lavender petal falls into your palm. It is quickly followed by more, as you hack up saliva and petals.

 

_J̵͟alu҉ ͢a̷͘e̷r ͡c̸͟͝n̨̨i̴h̵̸͢g̵uog̴̨̕ ̵͢҉hǫ̸t͝h̷a̕h͝t͝͡ la̧v̸̵end̶͜er͜͞ ҉͟r̵os͘e̸'̧͝t̷.͏͡͏_

 

“That I am,” you respond, even as coughs continue to wrack your system. Your whole body is shaking. Who knew coughing up the flowers of unrequited love would hurt this much?

 

_C̢̧̡n̛ ͜j̴͡o̶̧i͏ţ ͜҉n͏a̴̷̴fl̛͠ s’̴͢k̴͘d̨҉. ͘H̸͘’̡͡t̨͟ ̨s͟͏a̶s͢’̨͡h͏ ̴n̴̛҉a҉͟f̶͡l͝ ̷w͜͠i̴̴h͞͞t̨͢i̴n ç͜j ҉g͠l҉͞ų͠͠k̢y҉̕j҉h̨o.͜͢͞ Cn̨͜͝ ̢͝͞a̢͟e̴r̵ ҉̡sr͞͡ro͏̡͢y, R̸o͏̕s̢͘͏e͞ ͜͠L̸͢͝al̴̨ơnd̢e̴. ̵͞J̡̨͜a̛lu̡̧ ̢s̕͝ȩr҉͟ve҉̴̶t̡ ͡l̡e͢͟m͘ j҉g͟o̷͝g.̛_

 

Of course Hanahaki has no cure.

 

You can only forget or confess.

 

You are not likely to do either.

 

They go. The candles snuff themselves out one by one, and you wash the chalk dust from your hands in the sink.

 

Another petal forces its way through your throat. It lands in your palm with a splat, wet from saliva and something darker. Red. A contrast much like your conversations with your brother.

 

The one who has been in love for years without contracting the fatal disease you now carry.

 

You only know one survivor - your other brother. He confessed to his love - or, well, your sister forced him to - and it was discovered to be returned. The fatalness of the disease averted, he had promptly coughed up a plant, roots and all.

 

They planted that iris in their garden, a rather gruesome reminder of the love they share.

 

You _wish_ you could do that.

 

* * *

  

It is not instantly that you turn to Dirk. He survived, yes, but he will likely tell you to confess. You can't confess.

 

You won't.

 

You turn to him anyway - the disease is getting worse. You can tell. Breathing is harder than it used to be, tendrils of plant fibre - roots, leaves,  _thorns_ \- are digging into your lungs, slowly starving you of air.

 

tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT]!  
TT: Dirk. I have a problem.  
TT: What, no warm greeting? Rose, you’ve failed me.  
TT: As your father, I am ashamed of you.  
TT: No, seriously.  
TT: What, really? Lay it on me, I’m here to help.  
TT: I have Hanahaki.  
TT: Confess.  
TT: She doesn’t love me back.  
TT: Rose, you don’t know that. Don’t give up yet.  
TT: I summoned Them.  
TT: They told me that they were sorry and that I had served them well.  
TT: Shit.  
TT: Shit, Rose…  
TT: I know.  
TT: I’m sorry.  
TT: There’s nothing we can do.  
TT: There’s the operation!  
TT: I’d rather die than forget her.  
TT: Rose...  
TT: Do you want to tell Dave and Roxy?  
TT: Or should I tell them myself.  
TT: You can. I don’t mind.  
TT: If you want me to tell them though…  
TT: I’d prefer not to tell them myself if that’s okay with you.  
TT: Understandable.  
TT: Take care of yourself, Rose. I’ll tell them and be right over, but until then…  
TT: Don’t die.  
timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]!  


 

* * *

 

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]!  
TG: rose  
TG: rose  
TG: rose please tell me dirk was lying  
TG: youre not coughing up flowers in a gruesome approximation of britney spears  
TG: wait thats not an approximation  
TG: she did actually cough up flowers  
TG: and choke to death  
TG: thats kinda off topic  
TG: or well it isnt really  
TG: rose  
TG: please  
tentacleTherapist [TT] is an idle chum!  


 

* * *

 

 

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]!  
TG: rosey  
TG: are you okay?  
TG: that was a stupid quesition  
TG: *question  
TG: i mean ur obviously not but like  
TG: ur not dead right  
tentacleTherapist [TT] is an idle chum!

 

* * *

 

 

True to his word, Dirk arrives within 10 minutes after the messages you received from your other siblings - said siblings in tow. During their arrival, you’re sitting upstairs in your room. A full rose lies gently in your palm, purple spotted with red, and green almost drenched in it.

 

If you weren't so exhausted, you’d probably tell a Christmas joke. Unfortunately, you’re not in the mood.

 

A faint knock resounded throughout the room. It was so faint, in fact, that it could have been mistaken as the sound of the house settling, except for that it came from the direction of the door. 

 

tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT]!  
TT: Door’s unlocked.  
tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]!

 

The knocking stops, and there is silence for a second. It is soon interrupted by footsteps on tiles.

 

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]!  
TT: Where are you?  
TT: Upstairs.  
TT: Do you want us to come up?  
TT: I’m unsure if I can make it down.  
TT: I coughed up a whole flower.  
TT: A lavender rose.  
TT: I’m not even going to comment on that.  
TT: We’ll be right up.  
timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]!  
TT: Aw, I’d hoped you would comment.  
TT: You have the most entertaining comments, Dirk.  
tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]!

Soon your bedroom door gives way to Dirk’s hand on it’s back, slamming it face first into a wall. If your door was a person, it’d have a broken nose right now.

 

You’re glad that your door isn’t a person. You’re already getting blood everywhere with your coughing - you don’t want your door to be bleeding everywhere too.

 

You cough, again, weakly. It’s pathetic. Another lavender rose forces its way from your lungs, Dirk coming forward faster than you thought to catch you and hold your hair back as you hack up blood, saliva and roses. You’re aware of Roxy’s hand on your shoulder, Dave’s voice panicked and ringing in your ears. It’s soon drowned out by a ringing in your ears as you cough and cough and cough.

 

“Who is it?” Roxy asks, urgent, pushing. “Come on Rose, you’ll be fine but please, tell us who it is!”

 

“Kanaya,” you breathe, choking on the petals clogging your throat. Roxy’s breath is sharp, audible, and obviously clear. You’re jealous, but glad. She doesn’t deserve to have to deal with the pain you’re currently suffering from. You’d never wish this on her. You’d never wish this on _anyone_.

 

Not even your gods.

 

You can feel the thorns tearing at your throat and lungs. They’re amplifying the damage to your lungs - they say roses are the worst flower to choke on. The diaries and records tell of people with Hanahaki, coughing up roses, and dying months earlier than most cases because of the damage to their lungs, their throat.

 

You cough again, the searing pain in your chest taking on a new meaning as you remember. The pain in your chest could tell of constricting vines around your lungs, with time to save you, or it could tell of thorns ripping through skin and muscle, letting blood pour into your lungs and leaving your siblings no time to save you.

 

You hope that happens. A fast death is quicker than a slow death, after all.

 

Hacking up flowers is surprisingly uncomfortable. The blood you choke up with it makes it even more so. It’s slick, yet spiky, scratching your throat but coming up like water.

 

You hate it.

 

“Rose,” someone says, but everything is dim and you’re not sure who called you. “Come on Rose, don’t go. Please, Rose, hold on, you can do it!”

 

The dark is so comforting, though. It’s numbing. Warm. You feel cold, but that dark - it radiates warmth.

 

“Rose!” the person calling you yells, but their voice sounds as if it’s coming from above 6 feet of water.

 

You can ignore it. The warmth is nicer than whatever’s calling your name.

 

_F҉h͞t҉͏a͞g̷̡n̷.̛͏_

 

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]!

**Author's Note:**

> Consider checking out my tumblr [@felinedetached](https://felinedetached.tumblr.com/)


End file.
